


Finding Family

by Dirtcore Dreams (NakedEye)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cheating, Come Sharing, Come Shot, Come Swallowing, Come as Lube, Comeplay, Cuckolding, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Dark, Dirty Sex, Dirty Talk, Drunk Sex, Face-Sitting, Father/Son Incest, Felching, Hairy Derek Hale, Incest, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Parent/Child Incest, Rimming, Snowballing, Somnophilia, Stiles has a small cock in all my headcanons and Derek loves it and you can't stop me, Taboo, Under-negotiated Kink, Wet & Messy, musk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:21:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26620600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NakedEye/pseuds/Dirtcore%20Dreams
Summary: There's a reason Derek never invited Stiles to his place, a reason named Gael, his deadbeat dad. Only when Stiles forces his way in, they get along a lot better than Derek thought they would and he has to admit, he really, really likes it.
Relationships: Derek Hale's Father/Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale/Derek Hale's Father, Derek Hale/Papa Hale, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski/Papa Hale
Comments: 4
Kudos: 172





	Finding Family

**Author's Note:**

> This came to me in a vision as I was waking up this morning and I've been writing it ever since. It's a real fever dream and I'm sorry. Watch your tags. It's kinda dark in that everyone needs a big time therapist, but no one is cruel or pointedly malintentioned in this. There's cheating/cuckolding vibes, but it's not about degradation, y'all know me. 
> 
> Anyway, Derek's dad always has been and always will be Taylor Kinney to me, get that Joe Manganiello shit outta my yard. I'll post a pic of him below so y'all can become enlightened like me.

(The Dad in question. Anyway, you can get to the story now)

They’d been dating for months now– months! They’d said the “L” word and held hands in public and spent the whole week together, nights and all. Stiles was pretty sure they were something serious and yet, Derek _still_ hesitated any time Stiles mentioned coming over to his place, intimated that he might want to take a turn being the one packing an overnight bag.

Honestly, Stiles was starting to fear that Derek had a secret second family or something going on. Even though that was insane, it was the only reason he could think for why things were the way they were. If Derek just didn’t like him, they wouldn’t be together still. It wasn’t like Derek had a hard time stating what he wanted, being blunt with confrontation.

They’d had fights and makeups. They’d had long, late night talks about what they wanted from each other, where they thought this was going. It was a fuckin adult relationship for god’s sake. So, he had to be figuring out how to leave a wife or something, right? Or maybe he was just a psycho serial killer trying to bide his time until he could get Stiles right where he wanted him.

Stiles was so sure of it, he’d decided to set up a trap, follow Derek home and catch him in the act. Was it a little clingy and weird and border crossing? Yes. But it was justified, truly. What was Derek doing in his house that Stiles couldn’t see at this point? Derek felt comfortable enough to fart around him and as far as Stiles was concerned that meant all doors were opened, all intimacy was on the table.

But what was actually there was nothing he would have imagined. Not in a way that it was so shocking his brain couldn’t comprehend it, but in fact, that it was so mundane and kind he had no idea why Derek was hiding it in the first place. “He’s got nowhere else to go. He can’t hold down a job, my sisters are absolutely done with him, but… I just can’t let go yet.”

Derek looked… truly conflicted, like Stiles had never seen on his face before. Staring at his dad, passed out in a bedroom at the back of his apartment. There was anger knitted into his brows, disbelief in the hang of his open mouth, childish hope shining through his light eyes. He blew air through his nose in frustration, hard and short, before swinging the door closed again and facing Stiles.

“I was going to tell you about it, I swear. It just never feels like the right time to say my dad became the town drunk after his divorce and I’m the only one who’ll put up with it, so now you have to, too.” Suddenly a lot of things made sense. Derek having to duck out of dates early. Derek often acting halfway between a mother and a nurse. Derek never wanting to go out for drinks.

“I’m not mad. I get it, really. My relationship with my dad is… complicated.” He’d worshipped his mother as a kid, didn’t take her passing well. His dad was a sheriff, didn’t know how to react besides being a disciplinarian. He’d been The troubled teen while still living at home. They stilled talked, but. “It’s sweet. I’m glad he has someone that’s not ready to give up on him.”

Stiles thought that’s where it would end, that they would have their wholesome moment of understanding and then he and Derek would go back to the Lifetime movie of their romance. But it turns out he was in a much different Lifetime movie, and honestly, he should have anticipated that. He was the one that set things off in the first place. He was the one with the most obvious crack in the façade, flaw in the semblance of normal, functioning adult he tried to keep up.

He liked to believe that he was okay, that he’d processed all his issues and come out on the other end fine. But that wasn’t really how any of that worked. They didn’t just evaporate. They stayed with you. They needed constant tending. There was a lot more involved in coming to terms with them than simply moving away from where they happened. He hadn’t fixed anything; he’d just delayed it. And meeting Derek’s dad had restarted the countdown clock. Being face to face with daddy issues made his own flare up.

Derek and Gael were as hot and cold as he and Stiles were when they first started dating. Sometimes Stiles would find them absolutely losing their shit together on the couch—laughing so hard they were crying, clapping each other on the shoulders, wheezing as they talked about inside jokes and fond memories. Sometimes there was such a stony silence in the apartment that even Stiles kept his mouth shut, tiptoeing around the space. And sometimes there was such a simmering intensity between the two that Stiles couldn’t tell if they were about to have a fist fight or break down crying together.

It was… unhealthy, most likely. Stiles didn’t have a good compass for what functioning looked like, but he was pretty sure this wasn’t it. But it was so out of his realm of understanding or competence. He’d just been let into this aspect of Derek’s life, he didn’t want to step on any toes and even if he did, he had no clue how to make it better. He’d just be rocking the boat for the sake of it. So instead he went along.

And the crazy thing was, it wasn’t really that hard. He still had all the old instincts. He’d been through it all with his own old man. Every time he walked in and found a dozen crushed beer cans seeping onto the rug, every time he helped Derek drag Gael into his bed, every time he put some headphones on to ignore the shouting—he was hit with the most visceral sense memories.

The sharp tang of fear when he would come home late and his dad would be at the kitchen table in the dark, glass decanter in front of him. The warm comfort he still felt at the smell of whiskey, knowing all it took for his dad to come back to him was to walk the line. Taking the sheriff’s gun belt off for him, tucking him into the couch.

It was like the words to a song he hadn’t listened to for a while, but still knew the beat. And… the thing was, Stiles liked this song. Deep down he couldn’t deny to himself, it was comforting. There was this almost nostalgia that blanketed him amongst the chaos—a thick haze he enjoyed settling into. The slow relaxation of getting high and sinking into the dank smoke. He didn’t even feel guilty about it because Derek outright encouraged it.

“You’re an angel for putting up with us, babe.”

“Can’t believe I found a guy that’s chill with this.”

“I love having you over.”

He seemed just as nonplussed as Stiles was about it all. Sure, he got pissed and yelled and constantly bemoaned the state they were in, but it all seemed momentary, transitory. He said it the way someone would complain about a tough shift at a job they loved, or a hectic holiday dinner with family they enjoyed, but weren’t too sad to get away from. Stiles would let him vent and then Derek would grin and they’d fuck as loud as they wanted because it wasn’t like Gael was gonna wake up from it.

It wasn’t until he was left alone with Derek’s dad that Stiles realized how far he’d fallen. Derek had an early shift at the preserve and Stiles had gotten up with him to say goodbye, fix him coffee, give him a kiss before he hit the road. Afterward he’d leaned against the counter in nothing but one of Derek’s workout shirts—hem barely long enough to cover his junk, flashing a little bit of ass cheek.

It felt real nice to be this comfortable in Derek’s space, to sip from his own mug and turn the tv on low and make plans to do a little cooking, a little cleaning, mainly just game on the couch until Derek got back. Except something that almost never happened, happened.

Gael woke up.

He stumbled from his room like a bear from hibernation, braying a yawn just as loud and pawing his way around the kitchen. He almost shattered a mug getting it down, slopped a decent amount of coffee into his unkempt beard instead of his mouth, wiped half of it away with his uncoordinated hand. He was months overdue on trimming all of his hair back, weeks overdue from some laundry, and definitely too many days away from a shower.

His hoodie was missing a string and stained. His boxers were filled with inappropriate holes. He’d gotten quite a beer gut in his later years and he still seemed at least half tipsy. Stiles could see the man he’d been underneath. He had a lot of Derek’s features, though he was squarer, stouter. Derek must have gotten some of his litheness, his thin voice and light, pretty eyes from his mother. His dad was still handsome, even in all this. He had a thick frame that belied strength at any size. His hair was still mostly dark, very thick. He had the attractiveness of a rare high school stud that actually aged like a fine wine. He was just in a filthy crate in the back of a storeroom was all.

Stiles did his best to keep his legs closed, his shirt pulled down as far as it could go without being obvious he was stretching it, but he squirmed awkwardly as he felt the load Derek had left in him running down the backs of his thighs. He and Gael really hadn’t interacted much without Derek as a barrier, and the older man considered him with a squinty eyed wariness.

“Y’re not puttin it up my kid, are ya?” Stiles felt himself immediately flush, eyes wide, heart hammering. Gael pushed off from where he’d propped against the sink, lumbering over to stand face to face with Stiles, so close he could taste the stale alcohol on the man’s breath. It was terrifying… titillating. Stiles chewed his lip raw trying to stifle the electric thrill that ran across his skin, stiffened his tits. “He c’n do what he wants, j’s never thought he’d spread it fer a reedy punk like you.”

Gael boxed Stiles in against the counter, leaning into his space, circling and sizing him up, practically sniffing him out, leaning into the part of the poked bear. He was rank, vile in so many ways. He made Stiles’ pulse practically leap out of his neck, and for once he was thankful for how small his cock was as even half hard, it hadn’t made itself obvious yet. His breathing stuttered in his chest and he felt the chemical cocktail of daddy issues boil over in his brain.

“Derek loves the way I give it to him, begs for it even. Your son is so addicted to my cock he’ll pull me into a bathroom stall to get a little taste.” It was all true. Derek Hale was a miracle of a hot, ripped, hung dude that was, for some reason, absolutely hedonistic for Stiles’ little pink cock. Still, it wasn’t anything that any sane person would say to a parent.

Gael made this inquisitive sound, half a growl, and leaned back just enough to give Stiles another once over. This time there was a little wet spot starting to form on the front of the shirt, its form just tented enough to show Stiles’ balls and make the state of him all too obvious. “Hm,” was all he got, Gael pausing to consider for just a moment before one of his huge hands was on Stiles’ thigh. Neither of them moved for the longest beat, but then Gael’s hand caressed Stiles’ flesh so possessively as it travelled up.

Stiles softly mewled as he opened his thighs freely, let the older man rub knuckles against the tender insides before cupping him in a firm grip. “Yer a brat,” Gael said it with a smile, like he couldn’t be more pleased to chew Stiles out over this in particular. “Daddy di’nt have a firm ‘nuff hand, huh?” Stiles squirmed, put his hand on Gael’s chest, but just to rub it, kneading at the mix of fat and muscle. Gael hiccupped in his face and Stiles _felt_ the wetness. He made a noise he’d never heard before and surged forward to lick into Gael’s mouth, greedily swallowing down all the subsequent little burps and exhalations.

Stiles’ mind was on fire for how wrong this was, how filthy and bad and disgusting and it made his cock absolutely gush. He could taste the coffee in Gael’s beard, the liquor on his tongue. He could smell his old sweat seeped so deep in his clothes and every time he pulled back he could see just how much of Derek was in him. There was no amount of passion flooding his system that could drown the knowledge of this being his boyfriend’s dad.

Gael snarled as picked Stiles up and tackled them over the back of the couch, punching the air out of Stiles as he landed on top. He struggled immensely to get his filthy jeans pulled down and the stench of his hairy crotch hit Stiles like a freight train. He’d always loved to fuck Derek after a workout, to stay in pajamas all weekend long. This was a whole other level and yet he still tore his shirt off, spread himself out.

Gael spat on his fingers to mash them inside and grunted when he felt that Stiles was already wet and loose. “Figgers. Knew you were all talk. M’ kid creams you good.” His grin was feral, gleeful at knowing Stiles had just bottomed for his son. “Got his pa’s cock,” he sniggered, right before slamming the hairy thing balls deep into Stiles on the first try.

Sure enough, he was thick, thicker even than Derek. Definitely not as long, but he stretched Stiles even further, made him writhe. His gut was soft, but kept him pinned, half breathless, and Stiles groped at the round of it as he started getting hammered. Gael’s body hair was salt and pepper, his skin freckled from much too much sun and drink. His hiccups never stopped as they rutted and Stiles could feel him pausing often to catch his breath.

They fucked. More than once. All across the apartment. That old bear still had stamina and he used it to defile Stiles in a way he was sure he’d already experienced the heights of. “No wonder the boy likes you,” Gael punched out, collapsing onto his back, finally spent. His buzz had burned off a bit ago, but it changed little about his gruff demeanor. He chuckled as he slapped Stiles’ fucked out hole, still groping possessively even after they’d finished. “Sloppier than any cunt I’ve ever had. Must have his cock so tied in knots he can’t even see straight.”

Stiles couldn’t tell if they were compliments or aspersions, but it hardly mattered as it only took a minute for Gael to pass back out. Stiles watched him sleep awhile, gazing over the naked, flushed form of him to take his fill, but eventually his habits kicked in and he fetched a glass of water, tucked Gael in, turned off the lights, and closed the blinds.

He was standing back in the kitchen, just starting to come to the realization he’d lost his whole day when Derek opened the door. He had his pack slung over his shoulder, a smile on his face, but he froze as he took in Stiles. Still naked, body freshly roughed, cock still sticky. Like a deer in the headlights, Stiles stood stock still, waited with wide eyes as Derek slowly came the rest of the way in, closed the door behind him.

Stiles watched him breathe in the fetid air and take note of the stench of sex still heavy in the room. Calculations sped in his mind, his face a whirl of emotions as he tried to take it all in. His pack hit the floor. He landed somewhere between confused and incensed. He rushed forward to take Stiles by the wrist, dragged him close.

His sharp eyes scanned all over him, fitfully, and he yanked at Stiles’ jaw to pry his mouth open, sniffing at his breath. Old beer. Fresh cum. “You reek of him,” Derek spat it as he pushed Stiles back just enough so he could stare into his boyfriend’s face, searching. They sat in the tense silence so long Stiles thought he was going to scream just to break it. “Get in the bed.”

Derek didn’t shout at him, didn’t shove, or intimidate. His face merely darkened, and his tone got soft, low. Stiles scurried to do as he said, clambering across the mattress and shivering as Derek stalked in after him. The door was shut, Derek’s chest was heaving. He prowled over to the bed looking as though he was going to tear into Stiles, literally.

His clothes were roughly shucked and he shook as he climbed over Stiles, fat dick already drooling precum from his loose overhang of foreskin. “How many times did you—? His stench is everywhere.” Derek had no breath as he said it, almost afraid of his own words, actions. He leaned down and Stiles flinched, but Derek just started rutting against him, dragging their skin, pressing them as flush as he could get them.

His cock was hard in an instant, leaving sticky trails of arousal everywhere it was smeared. Derek’s little moans were fragile, tremulous as he started taking his pleasure, continuing to stare wild eyed at Stiles. He increased his pace rapidly, frantically getting himself off against his boyfriend. Stiles’ little cock valiantly tried to flex and jerk, but he didn’t have anything left in him, and Derek ground his rigid, throbbing junk against the flaccid bundle with pointed intention.

“Jesus Christ, Stiles. I—” He lowered his head to hide his face, quivering as he started sucking at Stiles’ skin, huffing along it. Chasing leftover tastes, scents. “Did you let him?” Before Stiles could answer, Derek took his dick and slid it inside, moaning so loud Stiles could feel the reverberations in his chest. His dad’s cum gushed out around him, matting into his pubes, streaking down his hanging sack. “So wet… you’re so wet with him.”

Shame bloomed so hot and verdant across Stiles, but flowering all around it were arousal and affection, protectiveness, pride. He hated himself, but he felt a manic glee at the shitheel punk that still lived inside of him bursting forth to revel in the uncomfortable, the taboo. The old high of defacing the sheriff’s office, getting suspended, getting arrested by his own dad fizzled in his brain. He thought he was past the trouble chasing, but here it was, flooding him with sick pleasure.

Derek looked at him like he was seeing Stiles in full for the first time, and his face twisted—brows lifting, mouth hanging slack, eyes wet—as he started to orgasm, blowing the fattest nut Stiles had ever felt from him. He collapsed, much like his dad, spent, though he buried his face in Stiles’ chest. They didn’t talk about it. Derek took a shower, Stiles made him dinner. They watched tv until Stiles was yawning.

When they got back in bed Derek slipped beneath the covers and finally cleaned Stiles up, eating him out until tears sprang from his eyes and he had a mostly dry cum. Derek had jerked himself off while under there, brought his messy fingers up for Stiles to suck clean. They kissed, and slept.

* * *

Derek knew there were a lot of things he’d come to term with over his life that a person shouldn’t have to. He had a lot of shit going on and there was a blankness in the way he felt about it that he was sure meant there was a lot of trauma needing to be unpacked. But even being aware of that logically, he couldn’t help the way he felt when he chose to examine it.

He felt this sense of… pride over how fucked his history was, an ownership over all the bizarre shit he’d been through and how high functioning he presented. He didn’t want to be normal, or put together. He hated those people. People who had nothing to worry about but who said passive aggressive shit at brunch. People whose main parental conflict is how much time they spend on the phone together. People that are as plain and empty as a cardboard box.

Derek pitied them, in truth. What a flatline of an experience of human life. He was sure they would look at what he was doing with his and have just as much derision, but he didn’t really care. He loved his scars, and he loved to poke at them. It’s probably why he’d let his dad stay with him in the firs place. He willingly invited the chaos into his home, jumped at the chance to stir shit up,

He wanted to have fights. He wanted to make excuses to his boyfriend for why he couldn’t show up and then hate that he was lying. He wanted the drama and the passion. He admitted that addiction had been tested lately. Derek wondered if he finally found his tipping point where it was no longer fun, where it well and truly hurt him.

The longer he sat on the idea of Stiles getting fucked by his dad though, the less he felt his insides rioting to try and come to a consensus about it. He’d been shocked, sure. Stiles had told him many stories about his “wild side”, but Derek had dismissed them as adorably suburban. He’d felt betrayed, disgusted. But more than anything he’d been fascinated.

Stiles, with a single action, had upturned Derek’s life more than anything else he’d ever encountered and… he kind of loved that little fuck for it. Maybe that wasn’t healthy, but Derek was in awe of the sheer recklessness—the pure, high grade self-implosion that he’d witnessed. It was thorny and violent and twisted and… he felt awe that he’d finally met someone on his level.

Fucking Stiles while tasting, smelling, feeling his drunk of a dad all over him was such an adrenaline junky high, it had taken Derek days to come down. He found himself wanting to ask Stiles what it was like, how good it was, how filthy. Derek simmered in the debauched, defiled headiness of it and felt himself fall more and more in love with Stiles.

He wanted something equally as crazy, as joyfully unhinged. So he waited until Stiles could catch him, snuck into his father’s room. Gael had passed out and then pissed himself. It wasn’t the first time, wouldn’t be the last. At some point Derek had given up trying to save the mattress, got to it when he got to it. The stench in here was so thick he could taste it and it made his dick hard as nails.

Derek left the door open as he approached, grabbed his dad by the ankles and yanked him to the edge of the bed. He fell to his knees and stared into the stained, worn denim that covered his dad’s crotch. Shaking hands gripped the man’s huge thighs and Derek felt his body thrill at how illicit this felt. With a rush to break the seal and fling himself off the cliff, he lunged into his father’s groin and buried his face against it, groaning as he breathed it in.

Sweaty cock and balls, dank urine, unwashed sex. It was as raunchy as it got and Derek rubbed his face in it like a cat at someone’s ankles. He inhaled deep, groping his own dick as he familiarized himself with the scent of the man that made him. His tongue fluttered before it flicked out, but the second it tasted the tangy, acrid liquid, he couldn’t get enough.

He moaned as he leaned up on his knees to get a better angle, lapping at the soiled fly of his dad’s jeans. He felt the man fatten under his ministrations and his chest tightened in excitement. His hands roamed up to push Gael’s shirts up, exposing his round, hairy stomach. Derek massaged at it with greedy hands, kneading the flesh, groping as they travelled up to pinch at puffy, dark tits.

His dad snuffled at little at his roughness, but Derek didn’t pull back, didn’t even pause. If he got caught, all the better. If his dad fucked Stiles so easily, he probably wouldn’t blink an eye at spunking his own son. With a hungry growl Derek slid back down to hook his fingers in the waistband, yanking Gael’s old jeans and filthy briefs down in one go.

His dad’s cock was fat as ever, looking positively engorged like his sack. His bush was wild, and Derek made hurt, needy sounds as he pushed his face into it, huffing the scent and loving the grit of the hair against his skin. His dad’s belly sagged on his head and he loved the weight of it, pushing against it just to feel more pressure against him. He licked at the underside of it, the slight crease that was starting to happen, and wrapped his arms under Gael’s legs to clench them around him, encase him in the masculine debauchery.

It felt good to finally take something back from his dad, to use him completely of Derek’s own volition, timing, and want. To derive just pleasure from them being together. And as he took Gael into his mouth, tasted his leaking precum, Derek entirely forgot that Stiles was involved in this at all. It became about the two of them, about everything they’d been so far.

Derek had always loved his dad, had seen him like a hero as a lot of boys did. The man had been everything Derek wanted to be. Fun husband, funner dad. He had lots of cool friends in the community, knew lots of useful skills and had cheesy hobbies. Derek couldn’t have asked for a better role model as a child.

And then when the divorce happened, things took on a new shape, but were still so comfortingly familiar. His dad was still the exciting, affable, endearing one. His weird, little apartment. His host of male roommates. His quest to find fulfillment in increasingly ridiculous trades. Derek knew his dad was a bit of a man child, a schlub, but it didn’t make him love the man any less.

His kids were grown, his wife was gone, so what did it matter if he wasn’t much of a model citizen anymore? He did the job while it was important. And then Derek started to become more of the parent, taking care of his dad’s bills, his dad’s troubles, his dad’s inabilities. They started fighting and butting heads. Derek felt himself being challenged and he cared very little about it, except for knowing that he had to make his dad defer to him or he’d spiral his way right into a grave. So they settled for the gutter.

And still Derek loved him. It had taken on some measure of pity, but Derek loved him all the same, wanted to make life as good as he could for the man. All semblance of boundaries had been erased. Derek had washed all manner of filth off his dad’s naked body, had dragged him naked and dripping out of skeevy motels. He’d gotten drunk with him, pissed out of moving cars with him, held him as he wept.

Whatever semblance of a normal father son relationship they’d had was long out the door before Stiles came and in some fucked way it felt natural to Derek that it turned into this. Gael had moved from his wife to his son in a thousand ways and this was simply the final straw—one that had been tenuous at best.

Even sober, clothes had become very often option entirely between them. Derek had heard all the drunken exploits of his dad’s favorite college girls, that one guy in a Costco, even much too much about his mother’s stinginess. He himself had stopped caring about being discrete and masturbated whenever, wherever he wanted, showed up wrecked from nights with Stiles and sat and ate nachos on the couch with Gael in his own mess.

At some point Derek started enjoying pushing the boundaries of their relationship instead of trying to shore them up, and he knew that he’d been acutely enjoying this bit of it. He took a sick satisfaction in being so familiar with his dad’s nakedness that it was blasé. He reveled in the both of them reeking of cum and knowing it, but not addressing it. He got his dick off hard knowing they often jacked it at the same time.

He was almost jealous Stiles had crossed the line first. Gael was hot, fucking sexy even like this. He was perverted too, loved chasing his nut any which way made it bigger. He was a catch and as soon as Derek let himself admit he _wanted_ him, the floodgates were open. He lapped at his dad’s balls as he deepthroated him, ground a thumb into his hairy taint. He groped his body, fucked against his feet, moaned his name. Derek knew he was attractive, charming, successful, an absolute bachelor, and he thrilled in knowing that such a stud was desperately, lustfully fucking his filthy father.

Just as Stiles entered the door frame, Derek popped of Gael’s knob with a wet sound, and groaned as his boyfriend watched him get a thick, hot facial. The musky ropes got in Derek’s eyes, his hair, clung to his chest. He strained his tongue to lick at what he could get and smeared the rest all over him. Stiles’ little tent was fully popped and Derek stood with a grin, staring right at him.

But he didn’t move to approach Stiles. Instead he circled to the side of the bed, crawled on top. He straddled his snoring dad and making eye contact with Stiles, spread his own ass wide. Licking his lips, he fully sat down on Gael’s face, jacking his cock furiously as his dad snortled and spluttered into his hairy crack. Any lips or tongue that brushed him was incidental, an asleep slap against his ass added to the symphony, but for Derek it was more than enough.

He rolled his hips and twisted his tits, and gripped his cock nearly hard enough to hurt as he shot all down his dad’s torso, matting the hair with cum and leaving it in thick, gooey rivulets. His legs were shaking, thighs still burning, but Derek shakily scrambled to Stiles, practically running at him. He wasn’t done, mind still fogged, and he tackled his boyfriend into the doorframe, rabid.

“Taste him on me. Lick him up.” Derek frantically pulled Stiles to him, stuffing one hand down the back of his pants and the other in the front. He wanted to feel how turned on Stiles was by this, make him feel even better. Stiles looked in his eyes only once for confirmation before tearing into him. He slurped it from Derek’s chest hair, lifted his arms to worm into his pits. He lapped broad, messy stripes across Derek’s whole face and even sucked on his nose to get every last drop.

He saved it all under his tongue and moaned as he showed it to Derek, stickily half gargling to keep it all in. “Your dad tastes so good, babe. It’s so thick and dirty.”

“I know,” Derek husked before surging forward, slamming their mouths together to pilfer his dad’s spunk from Stiles’ mouth. It gushed from the corners of their lips, ran down their chins, bubbled with their breaths. They lapped it from each other, drooled it into one anothers’ mouths, smeared it between their chests. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Derek said it in a litany, like a prayer, totally in awe of what they’d made together. He was so, so happy that Stiles made himself part of them family.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi if you liked this, you'll probably like the other bizarre shit I do over @DirtcoreD on twitter, which is connected to my curiouscat where I take prompts and more. Come hang out, we have a chill time despite the subject matter, promise.


End file.
